


Some stories to tell the grandkids... (or some that we better don't)

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A collection of AU prompts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, These parts have nothing to do with each whatsoever, awkward first meetings, doctor!Bellamy, doctor!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of AU prompts that I've received on Tumblr :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We can't act for shit

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Pretending to date you because someone was obnoxiously hitting on you.

Up until the age of nine, Bellamy Blake had been nothing but the neighbor’s son, whom she would never talk to, and only see once a year on Halloween when they both were out trick-or-treating; he always went with his sister and was dressed as some sort of historical person that her father would have to tell her about after she had gotten home.

Then, she discovered a secret of his upon having seen him slip a large portion of his candy into his little sister’s basket. Obviously, she had sealed her mouth shut at the begging look in his eyes… From that day on, the two trusted each other above anyone else, and Clarke would be the one to defend him in middle school every time someone made a mean comment regarding Bellamy’s unconditional love for Roman mythology, or even their uncommon friendship - somehow, her calm eyes and voice managed to keep him from exploding.

And he’d been the lone person to support her when some brat had accused her of cheating on a math test. Sure, those gestures might seem like small ones, but nonetheless they were so important in the end, since they were the reason to why Bellamy and Clarke didn’t find it difficult to confide in each other even when it came to much more serious things, like the night following her father’s passing where she’d gone to his house and sobbed while wrapped in his strong arms until she had fallen asleep on the couch. Over the years, she had realized that Bellamy Blake, that little boy dressed as Augustus, had grown up to become her best friend…

They’d always protected one another - therefore, what he didn’t shouldn’t have surprised her - it did anyway…

“Can I buy you a drink?” The guy - she’d already forgotten his name - shouted to drown out the loud volume of the music blasting from the stereo.

Avoiding eye contact, Clarke replied flatly with a simple ‘no’, but she wasn’t making herself clear enough, and he simply kept on going, endlessly throwing cheesy pickup lines. On one hand, she didn’t want to pay any attention to it, yet somewhere within her there was still a little girl, who was already very uncomfortable with the situation - giving into her instincts, she inched away from him, gazing towards the dance floor, searching for Bellamy.

Then, she suddenly felt the stranger touch her! Calloused fingers sliding up the skin of her arm, paired with a nasty smirk that she didn’t need to turn around to know was on his lips. Yet she did not get a chance to pull away from the bar counter and slap him across the face before a familiar voice ripped through the air; harsh and angrier than she’d ever heard it (and that was remarkable): “Get your grabby hands off of my girlfriend!” Bellamy spit out the words like poison as he pushed his way through the crowd of people (some of which had turned around to watch the show), lightning burning within his dark eyes.

During the millisecond it took Clarke to blink, awestruck, he had placed himself in between her and the creep, shielding her with his body: “What the hell is wrong with you?! Why is it that she can’t stand here; have a drink and not be harassed by some drunk scum? Piss off!” Despite the shock, Clarke smiled internally while deciding to play along - if this was how he wanted to get rid of the man, she might as well help make it a little more _convincing,_ which she sure did by taking his warm hand to say, her voice strangely calm: “He’s not worth it, babe,” actually, that was the line she normally used whenever the asshole John Murphy dared to call him ‘Augustus’ in front of everyone - except for the ‘babe’ part of course…

Bellamy breathed out heavily, his muscles no longer tense. Instead, a smile grew upon his lips, complimenting the amused spark that lit up his eyes, “I know,” it was hilarious how easy it was for him to say with an authentic exhausted tone dominating his voice, because he had said the same response at least a thousand over the course of the last fifteen years.

Nonetheless, all of the reenactment aside, he did something that he’d never done before too, when he caught her lips with his own, kissing her passionately. Instantly, she kissed him back as the world seemed to stop spinning to abruptly pick up at a speed that made her feel light-headed.  _How come she hadn’t noticed it until then? How they fit together perfectly?_

“Please tell me that you’re not playing a role,” the words blurted out of her mouth as soon as Bellamy had broken the kiss, his hand still resting on the side of her neck.

“Are you?”

“Bell, I played frog number 4 in our middle school play. I think we both know that I can’t act for shit,”


	2. Game on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: I swear, if you call me 'Princess' one more time, I'm going to kick your ass or more accurately, that football of yours.

If there was anything in the world that Clarke Griffin despised more than physics exams, it was always having to study for them at Octavia’s house when her mother was working from home. But the reason for her hatred had nothing to do with O; the girl was always extremely fun to be around. No, it was her older brother: Bellamy Blake, a college Sophomore, who thought he owned the world. And Clarke, the first day she had met him, had been the person to break it to him that he in fact, didn’t, which meant that he had spent the entirety of the last three years calling her ‘Princess’ and just hating her in general. 

Oh God, why did the asshole have to be on a college break _this very weekend_? Right when they had this dreadful final coming up, which she was supposed to be studying for (Octavia Blake was incredibly good at everything Clarke sucked at, and she could easily name each of the atoms of the periodic table).

Instead of focusing on her notes, she found herself looking at the window on the wall across from where they sat, through which she could see Bellamy playing football in their backyard. 

Clarke, having watched every single match with her father from the age of six, was a certified football fanatic; being female, that included a few extra things like being able to appreciate the look of a hot player, and to her dismay, she couldn’t deny that Bellamy was one: olive skin, an abundance of freckles across his cheeks - all paired with a jawline that most girls would pay millions to get to trace with their fingertips. 

Oh, and not to mention his hair, which she liked the best when he let it grow and soft, dark curls started falling-

Wait, what the fuck was she thinking?

“Earth to Griffin, if sodium is to fulfill the octet rule, which other atom can it for example bond with?” As Octavia waved a hand in front of her eyes, Clarke awoke from the haze where she had been cursing herself for a good minute. Hopefully, this was the last question - she couldn’t wait to get out of here and escape-

Think of the devil, and he will appear with broad shoulders, carrying a football and wearing a dark gray V-neck. 

_Shit._

“It’s chlorine, Princess,” and…  _more shit._

How was it that certain people (very few people actually) could make her blood boil by just walking into the room? Well, if that person had spent months and months tossing his asshole, pissy attitude and  _that_ unreasonable nickname down her throat. 

“I know. I was about to answer,” hissing, Clarke clenched her jaw at how he subconsciously licked his lower lip. _Why did he have to be so hot?_

There, she admitted it. 

He ignored her statement, leaning down to untie his shoelaces, but before he got the chance, Clarke had the idea that she was pretty sure was the best in her life: “I swear to God, that if you call me that one more time, I’ll prove that I’m unworthy of the title. By kicking your ass,”

A smirk growing on his lips, he walked slowly closer to the table she was sitting at, ignoring his sister’s glare, “I dare you. How do you plan on doing it?” 

“Football,”

“Bellamy…” Octavia warned, narrowing her eyes at how her brother’s facial expression became smugger. 

“Game on,”

* * *

The goals that they had in the backyard were kid-sized, which didn’t do anything except make the whole thing a lot more ridiculous than it already was - why did she want to prove Bellamy wrong to begin with; yes, he was a jerk, and a big one of the kind, but in other cases, Clarke wouldn’t bother wasting a second of her time or energy on guys from that species.

“Princesses first,” Bellamy growled, placing the ball neatly on the grass beneath them, and she managed to slap his shoulder as she walked forward, taking a few seconds to look at the goal; her target, before stepping two steps back in order to kick the ball in.

Even though she hated herself for it, she immediately looked to her opponent for a reaction, quickly putting on a triumphant smile - but there was none. Not yet, at least.

Like she had imagined, he scored too. And they continued as so for a good few minutes - by that time, there still hadn’t been any failed attempts, and after Bellamy had watched her manage to kick the ball in yet again, he opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of Octavia talking on the phone and not bothering to lower her voice: “I swear, Miller. It’s so absurd, I’m stuck with two idiots competing against each other in the most boring game of child football you’ll ever see, and that just because of some unresolved sexual tension! It’s driving me nuts; Bellamy’s been all over her since last fall, and Clarke practically drooled on my physics notes today while staring at him! Really, could they be more obvious?”

That bomb dropped hard. As in,  _Clarke-wondered-how-she-could-possibly escape-unnoticed hard,_ yet if in order to do so she’d have to rip out of her current  _oh my fucking God_  state sooner than Bellamy awoke from his: “I thought you hated me,”  _never mind_. When Clarke looked up at him then, there was no sign of smugness left on his face - to be fair, his whole body language had been flipped around from careless to shocked.

“I do,” she sighed, not knowing how to lie to him, “sort of. I mean, you’re an ass, but…”

 _You think you know it all, don’t you, Princess?_ Licking her lips, she pushed the remains of one of his many insults to the side, averting her eyes from him.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, Bellamy breathed: “I misjudged you. You were right about my ego, and I’m sorry for… Everything, to be honest,” and she had to see his face, which was difficult considering the fact that he was currently ‘admiring’ the view of his own feet. 

Could it be true? Was this real? Bellamy Blake being unsure of himself? Honestly, that door that opened right there was to some place she hadn’t thought existed, and instantly she found herself curious about it.

“And I’m too. I have no idea who you are. I based my opinion on my experiences those few times I’d met you, and the not-so kind things I heard about you,” to her surprise, it was easy to say that, also while looking him in the eye.

“If you want to base  _your opinion_  on something more, we could give it another try,”

Nodding, she smiled at him for the first time ever - something, which he perhaps indeed found contagious, because the realest form of grin she had seen on someone’s face, grew on his lips when she reached out a hand: “I’m Clarke. It’s nice to meet you,”

He took it, but instead of shaking it, he simply gave it a light squeeze: “Bellamy Blake,”

(His touch lingered on that hand for a whole week after that


	3. Show me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: This couple in our English class keeps making out. Oh really? It's not gross? Show me. (verse: The Ark)

Clarke was happy for Raven, who had met the young, charming engineer Wick while studying for her Zero-G mechanic exam - as you could imagine when it came to a woman as Reyes, it hadn’t been love at first sight, and for almost a month Clarke had been forced to listen to her friend’s never ending rants about: “how much that jerk couldn’t get his head out of his own fucking ass!” 

Oh Jesus, Clarke didn’t ever think she’d come to miss those… 

But she did now, wishing she had some cotton to put in her ears, because while trying to study, the distant sound of slobby lips clashing was, in fact, very distracting. 

Silently groaning, she attempted to focus on reading, but realized that she’d run over the same paragraph at least three times. She pulled a face of annoyance, taking no more than a second to glare in the direction of the couple, who had (of course) taken the table that would keep them as hidden as possible, blocked by a huge shelf. Her eyes willingly tore away from the sight, however only to be met by the view of Bellamy Blake’s smirk. 

He was three years older than her, but had worked a while as a janitor to support his mother - therefore, he’d never finished the last two years of school and had decided to go back now. That was what she knew about him, excluding the fact that he was incredibly attractive: messy dark curls and eyes that always seemed to have some sort of spark in them. 

Oh, but she was far too familiar with how much of an idiot he could be, especially if something amused him: “What’s that face, Princess?” 

Arching an eyebrow, she hoped that it would dry the grin off of his lips, yet instead it grew wider, and she wanted to facepalm. “Don’t you hear it? I love Raven, but seriously, that amount of making out just gets gross,”

Because they were in the study hall, and Mrs. Warren was always watching over her students like a hawk searching for its prey, Bellamy chose to reply with one of his many, infamous glances (over time, Clarke had gotten pretty good at understanding them, if she was to say so herself), and this one, with a slight eyeroll to it, clearly spoke the words:  _you’re such a baby._

She narrowed her own eyes in response, seconds later failing to hold herself back, which caused a low hiss to spurt from her lips: “It’s not my fault that nobody’s shown me how it’s done… Until that time comes, I’m bound to assume the worst,”

 _Silence_ ; and that instantly. By the look of how his jaw had slacked just a tiny bit, it appeared as if he for the first time in all of the months that Clarke had known him, had no idea of what to say. But his intense way of gazing at her drew her eyes back to the screen on which she was doing her homework; to her horror, it just made it worse, creating shivers down her spine. 

During the minute that lasted, she probably glanced up at him more than a few times until he couldn’t handle it anymore, whispering like he was making a completely normal suggestion:  _“Want me to show you?”_

Then, there was another staring contest, which he won again when she turned around, raising a hand.

“Yes, Mrs. Griffin?”

“I’m done with the essay - can I be excused?” Upon saying that, she made sure to send Bellamy the most revealing look she could master without cracking a smile, soon leaving him to handle his own alibi. 

* * *

“Are you fucking crazy, Clarke? I swear, that woman attempted to keep me in that chair as if it was her life mission-”

“Stop whining - who was it that you called a baby again?” Giggling, she grabbed a hold of his hand, intertwining their fingers. 

“Wait, I don’t remember ever calling you a-”

“But you thought about it, didn’t you? Now, be quiet. Do you want us to get busted?”

* * *

Of all places, Clarke chose to bring him to the sky deck from where they could see each of glowing stars, and through the telescope, The Earth, which they would never get to explore; that was her dream, though - no matter how dangerous it was. 

“I want to be the first girl to walk on the ground; the  _real_  ground, Bellamy,” she said, excitement from the thought shining through the blue within her eyes. And he couldn’t do anything but smile. He wanted to enjoy the view of her happiness for another moment, however as soon as his brain told him that that moment was over, he placed a hand gently to the side of her neck, refusing to forget what they had come here for. 

“Of course you want, Princess,” he murmured in response, and for the first time, it wasn’t at all taunting, which was a fact that strangely made it hard for her to unravel what it meant right there. 

Her eyes, that had closed a little at the new sensation that was the feeling of his hand against her skin, suddenly flickered to his just in time to catch a glimpse of him before he bent his head down and kissed her. 

The most accurate way to describe it was to compare it to a rush; she didn’t know exactly what it was: if it was energy or something else, but it shot right through her, filling her veins at the speed of light once his lips had settled on hers, where they proved to fit better than any of them had initially imagined. 

Therefore, Bellamy felt no shame in deepening the kiss a little; and as her fingertips the following second slowly travelled their way up the skin of his neck, to lastly burry themselves within his curls - a little more. 

She surprised him by opening her mouth first, drawing their lips just enough apart to be able to breathe: “Remember, don’t tell. Just show,” and the tip of his tongue luckily clarified that he had understood the message as it gently swept across her lower lip, asking for permission before going in to meet hers. 

Instantly, she felt a bit more insecure, but to her relief, from this point on, Bellamy happily took charge of the situation, cradling her face to support her as soon as their faces were at a good angle. 

“Clarke-?”

“Don’t break the rules,”

“I’m just trying to warn you,” he stated quietly, “but okay,” without further words, Bellamy shamelessly allowed his tongue to explore her sweet and tempting one some more; something, which caused her to briefly sigh against his mouth while her hands grabbed at the rough material of his shirt. 

When they at last broke apart, their chests heaving from lack of oxygen, Bellamy rested his forehead against hers for a long moment.

“Sloppy?” He asked, grinning.

“A little,”

“Gross?”

“Absolutely not,”

 


	4. Both are in my favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: ONE NIGHT STAND BEFORE THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR NEW JOB. AND OOOPS THAT WAS YOUR NEW BOSS YOU WERE SLEEPING WITH.

Barely a year ago, Clarke Elizabeth Griffin had been one of 121 students to throw her hat in the air as a proud pre-med graduate: Goodbye college, goodbye to long nights sitting sexiled in the hallway, studying for a test the next morning - no more horrible coffee and snacks from way-too expensive vending machines.

Reyes, one of her very best friends from high school had suggested that Clarke should move into her apartment immediately after graduating because she was a control-freak with sense for organization, if not to mention seriousness, which would bring new balance to her home. Since Raven was a bit of a rock chick: messy but so tough that she was capable of scaring guys, although she only came up to their chins. Also Clarke wondered how it was possible for one to be as laid back as her mechanic friend, who could always get the best out of everything; take her mind off of things, even the most terrifying history finals (but damn, she was scary with a wrench, and if anybody dared to as much as look at her the wrong way they would get slapped hard enough to not talk the following five days - just ask the outcast John Murphy from her mechanic courses. Clarke was amazed at Wick’s bravery the day that he had managed to hit on her in a way that she liked).

Getting her first job as an educated doctor at the Ark City Hospital was beyond exciting, but the same morning of receiving the phone call, Clarke had noticed one of those very infamous notes on the refrigerator door:  _“Hey Babe! I’ll head to Wick’s place immediately after work - he insists that we go out to eat on our anniversary. Man, he tries all his best to be romantic after the bet that we made. It’s killing me! - R.”_

Therefore, the night before her first day she decided to go and celebrate the victory all alone, maybe have a couple of drinks (though not enough to get drunk), dance by herself as she did it best - and talk to strangers, who might congratulate her. That proved to be the worst choice of her life, but she didn’t know that what happened would happen.

* * *

“OH MY GOD RAVEN. YOU MONSTER. DON’T YOU DARE LAUGH AT ME,”

“It’s just so not you, Clarke. Running late for your first day of work because of a one-night-“

“Don’t mention it!” Clarke warned through the phone while tugging her black coat on, only succeeding in pulling an arm through one of the sleeves as she slung the front door open and grabbed her to-go coffee mug to chuck the rest of the black goodness (caffeine was a life-safer, truly).

“Tell me about Mr. Dreamy when you get home,” Raven teased, and the doctor could literally hear her grinning in amusement, but before she could hiss a ‘shut up’, she was wished good luck, and the call was ended.

* * *

In her rush to get to the right floor, Clarke barely registered her new surroundings (well, perhaps excluding the many countless ways her colleagues - a lot of which she should have respect for considering how experienced they were - sent her. She would never be as good as them if  _this_ kept happening, that was for sure).

_Her boss better be one forgiving son of a bitch…_

She couldn’t stop herself from imagining the horror from the explanation she might be forced to give like she had been whenever she had shown up late for math classes in college (“Can I ask why you’re late this morning, Mrs. Griffin?” “Yeah, so I took this incredibly hot dude from a bar with me home last night. We had hardcore sex, but the asshole didn’t wake me up so…”)

Though desperate, she decided to act natural and enter the workroom quietly in hope that no one had acknowledged the missing newbie. (But shit, that was no use, because her boss proved to know  _exactly_  why she was late)

 _It’s okay, Griffin. You got this, you’re cool, you’re confident and you don’t give a damn,_ Clarke thought to herself before opening the door just enough for her squeeze through, then with her papers at hand, she tried to effortlessly brush a piece of hair to its place behind her ear, however it ended up getting caught in her mouth.

“Miller, you need to check on that little girl Cassidy today and see if her concussion is really as bad as we initially thought -“ This. Wasn’t. Happening. The voice of the man giving orders wasn’t unfamiliar, to say the least.

_“You sure know how to make a good first impression, Princess,” His deep, dark words were exhaled against the sensitive skin of her ear, and if - God, if it hadn’t been him she wouldn’t have found it as much as a bit attractive. She knew this guy was nice despite the smugness - in the end that was what changed her response from: ‘Asshole’ to the politer:_

_“And you can shut up,”_

Fuck. No, no, no.

Someway, Clarke really wanted to gaze up because of the tiny chance that she was wrong, and that guy had just messed up her mind. The wiser part of her brain overpowered that, though, telling her not to do so.  She woke from a haze to hear the  _best_ part: “Oh, and Harper, if you have time today, would you mind showing our new intern around… Her name is-“ she looked up in time just to see none other than Mr. Dreamy glance down at his papers with those characteristic eyebrows furrowed and his concentrated frown (which she had found too intriguing the night before) suddenly making her gulp, “- Clarke Griff- Wait a minute-“

The last thing Clarke felt as she in the matter of a millisecond made her way to the door was his eyes on her back - a sensation that shamefully still made her unable to breathe, only now in the worst possible way.

* * *

_“No last name?”_

_“Better to be safe than sorry, remember Princess? Be careful. I might start to think that you want to hunt me down on Facebook or something,” that smile of his glowed more than the flashing lights from the disco system, and the sparks within his dark eyes were naturally stunning._

_“Why would you say that?”_

_“Maybe because it’s happened before? A couple of crazy ex-girlfriends are in my past. Making new accounts didn’t help much. You should be happy with what you get,” even though his self-interest was obvious, it didn’t scare her away like it usually did (blame the tequila shots): “You don’t know me, but I am here to inform you that one of my deadly sins is greed. And I plan to take advantage of every second; every detail you give to me,”_

During her break, after being showed around by the nurse named Harper - she went to an empty lounge to call Raven in desperate need of advice from a rebel. As Clarke waited for her to pick up, she couldn’t ignore the complete mess her mind had turned to at the sound of  _his_ voice - That, along with the fact that he clearly had left his shirt in her room on purpose was simply another reason to why Clarke was so certain that his lone mission was to haunt her.

“Trust me, R. This is not funny! I’m freaking out! What do I do?” Lowering her voice as a female nurse passed the door, Clarke impatiently waited for Raven to finish chuckling.

“Relax, G… Was it a bad experience? - was he a terrible lover?” Clarke blinked at the last word, narrowing her eyes. Honestly, she always got the teasing side of her best friend when she clearly needed the Doctor Phil side.

“I don’t understand how you dare to say something like that in a situation as mine, but  _no_  and that’s the fucking problem, you see?”

It seemed like Raven pondered a bit, or maybe Clarke had called while she was busy having fun blowing shit up in the back of her shop down town, but then she finally sighed an advice: “Okay, that’s easy. Just tell him ‘hello dude, thanks for last night - I want to pretend like it never happened because you turned out to be my boss and I don’t want to screw up my reputation,”

“Well, that makes me sound like a bitch,”

“Got a better idea?”

As if the whole thing couldn’t get worse, right at that moment, a man, who was far more than ‘just somebody’ stepped into the room, announcing himself with a smug: “Having trouble navigating around here, Princess?”

Shoot.

“Raven, I have to go. Duty’s calling-“ Quickly, she hung up the phone and reluctantly raised her gaze to him, finding his facial expression to be far more serious than she’d imagined it would be - still, that didn’t quite hide the grin after all, “No, Dr. Blake. Sorry, I’ll see myself out,”

But he stopped her; one strong hand closing around her arm to pull her back towards him so that she had to hold back a defeated whimper: “Doctor Blake? As far as I recall, last night I was Bellamy and you were Clarke, a pre-med  _graduate_ ,”

She met his gaze, her blue eyes lightening, no longer a tad afraid: “Oh well, as far as I’ve concerned, last night didn’t happen. Now, let me go, I have to get back to work,” at that he released his grip on her forearm, allowing his hand to hover merely an inch from her wrist as if there was anything left to say between them…

… Taking the first step away, Clarke felt the intensity of his gaze at the back of her neck once more, and pathetically she gave in, trying to mask her fluster with a hissed comeback at how he had accused her of lying (which she  _technically_ hadn’t): “For the record: calling myself a graduate even after a year sounds much better than ‘unemployed’ don’t you think?” -  _Holy crap, how smooth, Clarke_. She deeply wanted to facepalm.

“I would’ve slept with you anyway,”

“ Yeah, of course you would’ve. Whether I had a job or not didn’t matter to you, because I was made for nothing but sexual pleasure, right? That’s all that counts for you. Well, fuck you Bellamy!”¨ Determined not to waste one more second of her time on that asshole, with tears of anger (and disappointment) burning within her eyes, she stormed away from him.

“Clarke, wait! I’m sorry!”

* * *

**Message from 433-58-123**

_You misunderstood me._

_Please, let me explain._

Okay, it was her fault now, too! He was unbelievable!

_Please._

_Please._

_Please._

_PLEASE!_

She was bound to admit that this was rather satisfying, yet you couldn’t deny the fact that a phone that was constantly vibrating was more than disturbing to her concentration while she was filling out a form for a patient.

**_Aren’t you supposed to be working?_ **

_No. I’m supposed to be begging_

_you to listen to me._

**_And if I don’t?_ **

_Then, I’ll send you a Shakespeare quote._

_Which way do you want it?_

Somehow the thought of Bellamy Blake being romantic made her feel weird; not sure of she would be flattered or disgusted at a guy, who had spent a good portion of last night shamelessly trying to woo her (it was definitely  _not_ the other way around!) and then later, talking dirty but in a horribly sexy way, suddenly acting as if they were in a cheesy chick-flick.  

Therefore she replied…

**You have thirty seconds**

**to explain.**

God, he wasted no time, and it was almost like he had typed the response in advance.

_I would’ve still slept with you,_

_because I like you!_

_I like that you call me out when I’m_

_being an ass - that you’re funny, but_

_laugh at my shitty jokes. I love the_

_fact that you know that you’re beautiful_

_without anyone having to tell you._

_But last of all, I love that in spite of all_

_you can’t see how much you mean to me,_

_because it forces me to act like the man,_

_I want to become._

**Oh wow.**

 

The last thing she had expected was for him to be that good at text-monologues; it was a rare talent, she knew that, because the other guys she had dated saw no reason whatsoever to reply with more than a ‘k’. Maybe, he wanted this. There was a possibility that he was indeed different; that she had indeed misunderstood him, but if a single thing was certain, it was that Clarke Griffin, the pre-med  _graduate_ was stubborn as hell… And Bellamy was completely aware of it:

 

_Need the Shakespeare quote?_

**Hit me.**

_“Love me or hate me, both are_

_in my favor. If you love me,_

_I’ll always be in your heart._

_If you hate me, I’ll always be_

_in your mind,”_

                                                                                                                         **…**

Clarke looked around, and caught him standing in a doorway behind her. His cheeky wave caused her to smile, and without further thought, she spun around on her heal, saying as naturally as she could master: “Do you care to show me around, Mr. Blake?”


	5. The one where she slapped the wrong ass...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: I thought you were my friend so I slapped your ass in greeting.

_Just go,_ he said,  _it’ll be fun,_  he said. 

Well, try again, because upon two weeks of surviving on junk food from vending machines and cheap, instant coffee while nearly drowning in scrambled notes and empty highlighters; heading to a night club with the most horrible, overplayed songs bursting out of the speakers, wasn’t on top of her wish list. Not that she would normally classify herself as a Debbie Downer, but she just wasn’t the same person with a migraine. Everyone knew that, well except from Atom: a cute boy, who she used to work with at the local cinema during high school. 

Somehow, he happened to have chosen the same college (and major) as her, and they had started talking again as if no time had gone by. So when he had sweetly asked her to come, tempting with the idea of meeting some new people (his friends), she had found it hard to say no. 

But now, while pressed in between sweaty bodies of wasted strangers, she seemed to have lost him, as in he had completely gone out of sight. Having a phone conversation (or any conversation for the matter) in a place like this was completely impossible, so there was simply no easy way to find him. 

Just as she was about to give up looking for her friends, she actually spotted him, searching for her ( _that idiot),_ making his way through the crowd, and she recognized him by the shirt; a dark shade of blue, v-neck. Determined to show him why the hell it was that you shouldn’t leave Clarke Griffin alone in her grumpy old man-state of mind - especially not in a club she had never been to before - she started to walk towards him quickly, and once she was just a step behind, she made an even quicker decision, reaching an arm out in order to slap his ass with an: “Did you lose something, Atom?” She grinned mischievously for a second until….

“What the hell-?”  _Oh my God. This wasn’t happening. Fuck._

The guy turned around, and her mouth formed an embarrassing O shape, because he was absolutely _not_ Atom: delicious olive skin, dark curls in the same color as his eyes, but with a puzzled frown dominating his face, though. 

She just slapped a stranger’s ass. She just  _slapped_ a  _stranger’s_ ass _._

Clarke spent the next long moment of awkwardness trying to find an excuse to use, only to finally realize that there was none other than: “I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else.”

Biting his lower lip subconsciously, the guy (maybe, he was a few years older than her? It was hard to tell when the only lighting was provided by the occasional white flashes from the disco-system) shook his head, suddenly grinning at the sight of her obviously flushed face, “no problem. Honestly, that’s a bummer.” There was a irresistible twinkle to his eye, and Clarke finally felt more relaxed, knowing that he was (more than) cool with it. 

Quirking up an eyebrow, she failed at catching herself before she responded too hurriedly: “I’m just here with friends.”

He chuckled lightly, reaching out a hand casually: “Then, I feel no shame in introducing myself to you, Milady. My name’s Bellamy Blake.”

“Let me guess: History major? I’m Clarke Griffin, pre-med.” 

“Ph.d actually. Or almost.” Yeah, she’d been right: he was some years older, yet that fact didn’t bother her; nor did it that he appeared to be a history nerd, because honestly being smart couldn’t possibly make this guy any less attractive.  _Nuh-uh, it was the straight opposite._

“Want some help finding your friends? I know this place pretty well.”  _No wonder._ Something told her that this guy was could’ve been made in heaven: he was confident, but seemingly not a jackass. Attractive, and he was smart, too. Damn, such a combination of traits shouldn’t exist. It simply wasn’t fair. 

“Actually, I think I’m just fine now.”

“That’s good. Just don’t slap my ass again, okay?” 

“Shut up.” 


	6. Of Octavia the spy and a locked closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Our shitty friends locked us in a closet, hoping we'd make out. Let's trick them.

This is the story of how Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin ended up together inside his little sister’s closet. Perhaps, they had indeed deserved it in some way, but they still found the situation very unfair: “We made this mess ourselves,” Clarke murmured as if he did not know, feeling his knee pressed sharply against her thigh. But he simply chuckled at her annoyance until she finally punched his shoulder; as a true friend would’ve. 

“You know they’re not going to let us out before we kiss, right? Trust me, your sister has been playing matchmaker for weeks. She is not going to give up before she gets what she wants. In fact, none of those idiots will,” 

“Relax, Princess. Do you even remember what got us into this in the first place?” In the dark, she could not see him, yet his breath was hot once it met the skin of her ear. The fact that he was so close while she was not able to see it was beginning to strangely bother her. 

“Our harmless fake relationship?” 

“Exactly. And we were quite good at it, weren’t we, Princess?”

“Almost too good,” she remarked, huffing at the well known teasing edge to his voice. 

“Then, we’ll just pretend to kiss…”

* * *

 

What had started this was that Octavia had seen Clarke’s toothbrush in their bathroom (besties memorize the color of that kind of stuff, okay?) and had started to assume that they were dating in secret (”She just wanted some help to study for that big history test, and because we stayed up until five in the morning, she slept here. On my bed. I slept on the floor, O.  _Nothing happened!” “_ Aha, that’s what they all say - How stupid do you think I am? I’m not a five year old girl anymore. You are so banging  _my best friend!_  It’s kinda cute but gross at the same time, you know?”) 

Upon almost two months of that (Octavia had in the meantime gathered a group of their mutual friends to form a group of a-little-too-obvious spies to stare at Bellamy and Clarke while they were eating lunch at another table until they got all creeped out), Bellamy was turning a little crazy, pulling his hand away like Clarke burned him if they accidentally touched, avoiding her gaze as much as he could and refusing to meet with her outside of school.

One day, Clarke had come to him with an amazing idea: “Let’s get our sweet revenge,”

That suggestion had led to a fake relationship with real actions: like holding hands in the hallways and calling each other babe and baby whenever their friends were around. But they had only just gotten started, suddenly taking the PDA up a notch until they would slowly start to embarrass their friends. They would even tease Octavia by leaving one of Clarke’s bras in his room. 

And the only thing they hadn’t done was kiss, which was ultimately what had made their friends question whether or not their ‘relationship’ was real. 

“When you kiss, you have proven to us that your relationship is not a joke, and you can come out!” Octavia had shouted before, with the help of Miller, pushing the couple head first into the closet, not leaving the room afterwards. 

* * *

 

“I have a better idea,” Clarke told him, her voice low, and it actually calmed her that she could not see his reaction, especially as she pressed her lips firmly against his, or more accurately where she thought that they were. After struggling a bit to find her neck, Bellamy placed a warm palm to it and responded passionately, nipping slightly at her lower lip with his teeth. If it had been possible for her to come any closer to him, she would have moved without hesitation - yet her hands were already pressed to his chest, and he was almost laying down, in an awkward position to make more room for her. 

Warmth pooled in her stomach as his tongue briefly swept across her bottom lip, and she sighed into his mouth. 

Suddenly, the small slit of light from the space between the closet doors widened. 

“Okay, we believe you guys. You can stop kissing now,” Octavia said, but it appeared as if she soon realized that that wasn’t going to happen, “Or don’t whatever. But if you do it in my closet, I will fucking kick your ass, Bell,”

 


	7. I'm too hot (hot damn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: You came to my dorm because I was playing music too loud and caught my dancing to Uptown Funk in my underwear.

**_This hit_ **   
**That ice cold**   
**Michelle Pfeiffer**   
**That white gold**   
**This one, for them hood girls**   
**Them good girls**   
**Straight masterpieces**

With a frustrated grunt, Bellamy Blake turned around on his back, wondering why the hell she thought it was funny to play that goddamn radio station-overtaker at this time. Didn’t Clarke have any sympathy for guys, who may or may not have participated in one of Monty and Jasper’s  _never have I ever_ games last night? At least considering what she herself had been through not long ago where he’d been the one to hold her hair up following moonshine shot number 11, or was it 12?

Nevertheless, it felt like someone attempted to bore a hole through his skull, his head pounding. And the music wasn’t exactly helping. 

It only took one more painful blow for him to slide out of bed, mumbling to himself, hating that headaches always had him grumpy, especially because Clarke had hinted multiple times how relieved she was that the bitter  _‘Oh hello Princess’_  and  _‘You son of a bitch’_  days were over. 

Taking a step back into that was not going to amuse her…

As he walked those thirty-five steps  ~~(yes, he actually counted them to keep himself from face-planting and falling asleep on the floor)~~  between their two rooms the volume of the music intensified to make the sound of Bruno Mars’s:

**_I’m too hot (hot damn)_ **

\- clearer. It was a catchy song, he would give the singer that much, but on a morning like this he couldn’t even tolerate those classical piano tones that Monty meditated too every once in a while (don’t ask).

Bellamy didn’t know what he had expected to see once he opened the door to her dorm upon a careful knock - just that Clarke slipping and swirling around in nothing but her underwear and a pair of fuzzy, baby blue socks had not crossed his imagination. 

**_I’m too hot…._ **

“Hot damn!” He knew that it was inappropriate to announce himself like that but he simply couldn’t help himself, and with a strained shriek, Clarke glanced over her shoulder - her eyes widening immediately as she saw, who it was, hurrying off to the side: “Come on, Bellamy!”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled lightheartedly, not really regretting it. 

“At least let me put on a bathrobe!” During the minute it took her to do just that, Bellamy allowed himself to turn down the volume of her stereo, which earned him a glare as soon as she came back: “really, first you come into my dorm like that, and then you spoil the moment even more - what is this-?” 

Even though she sucked at faking anger, he had to reply anyway: “I promise that I’m not doing this to piss you off. Three words: Monty, Jasper, moonshine,”

“Dry that smirk off of your face and I’ll believe you,” in spite of that, she did look at him empathetically. Bellamy bit his lip as the pain intensified, seconds later accepting her offer of aspirin. 

Longing for a change of a subject, he asked: “What exactly is the reason for you dancing around to Uptown Fuck at 9.30 a.m?”

He’d known Clarke for almost two years now, yet they’d only been friends about half of that time having spent the first eight months bickering over everything that wasn’t important in this world - at least not to normal people…

Then, they had finally realized that they were killing their mutual friends with their immaturity, and she desperately needed help with a midterm, too. 

“I may or may not have gotten an A on that history test that you helped me study for,” a smile slowly growing on her lips, she stole a glance at his slightly shocked face while pouring herself a cup of black coffee. 

“You have got to be shittin’ me, Clarke,”

“Seriously? I know that I was kind of a lost cause-” at that, he huffed, which once again got him nothing more than a glare that could potentially kill a small dog, so he let her continue,”- but I did it, and you should be proud of me,”

“I am proud of you,”

“Good,” when she stepped closer, leaving no more space between them than what made her capable of placing a palm to his chest - she gazed into his eyes in a way that made him swallow embarrassingly hard. Now that she was closer, he noticed a small chunk of peanut butter at the corner of her mouth, and he simply had to dry it off gently using his thumb. And as if that was enough teasing, he licked it off afterwards, probably subconsciously, though. Clarke, however, was having none of it: “You’re killing me,”

Her bluntness surprised him, brows furrowing: “I’m killing you? Clarke, you’re the one with a hand on my chest,” he remarked. 

Clearing her throat, Clarke blushed (he’d never seen her do that before), her whole facing turning red, which told him that she had thought her action through as little as he had his own. 

After a long silence, she croaked: “Fancy some peanut butter cookies?”

“If I finally could get that date with them it would be great - and I promise no books or mythology-babble this time!”

“What if I like your mythology-babble?” 

“No problem. But remember that you asked for it,”  


	8. Clarke Griffin's jackass guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy yourself last night?

1)     **The arrogant;**  persons with this specific type are horribly prone to show their self-interest at any time, forcing it down other everyone’s throats because what they enjoy more than anything else is showing off, which sometimes  _do_ backfire whenever they’ve seated themselves on the highest horse they could find, only to fall down moments later due to the fact that they are not always as good at everything as they think they are. To see these people fail is - as inhumane as it sounds - the most amazing thing ever.

2)     **The actor;** this may seem confusing, but really, nearly everyone has encountered a person with this type. That popular football player at your college, whom you may have a couple of classes with? When he’s with his friends, he is nothing but a typical jerk, however every time he’s in class, he is a totally decent - maybe even nice - person. He acts like a jackass because he needs to keep the attitude up! The image he got the moment he chose to join the group at school in which you find the most cases of type 1.

 

3)     **The sex god;** to get one thing straight: not all sex gods are jackasses, but in terms of college, the guys who end up on every girl’s secret ‘to bang’- list are also very likely to be idiots. They spent a lot of their time strutting (yes, they do strut, okay?!) around the halls, hands in their pockets and with a smug smile on their lips, because like any other organism with a pair of eyes, they know that they’re too hot for this world. They can be your absolute nightmare - if your repeating nightmare has the most delicious olive skin and dusting of freckles, you seriously have gotten yourself a problem…

 

Clarke Griffin never thought that it was possible for one person to have each type - well that was before she met Bellamy Blake… Since he was a criminal justice major and Clarke herself spent the most of her time in Biology classes, you would not initially think that it could be possible for them to clash as often as they did.  

Quickly, she had been introduced to his arrogance, which was undeniable and also hadn’t decreased from the time months ago where she’d gone to his dorm asking him (nicely at first) to turn the volume of his music down, since she was trying to study, and he had called her sensitive before shutting the door - to the present day when he approached her with a smug smile curling at the corners of his mouth that she wanted nothing more than to dry off:  _“Did you enjoy yourself last night, Princess?”_ Clarke froze, her own fake smile fading abruptly.  _No, no, no, no -_ he couldn’t possibly know what… For Heaven’s sake, her door had been locked! Hadn’t it? Feeling the color drain from her face, she realized that it was too late to put on a mask of confusion, and chose to spin around to make a run for it - as pathetic as it sounded.

But after she had taken the first step, he stopped her by wrapping a hand around her wrist - an action that sent a shock right through her. He was magnetic, attracting her, and she should feel ashamed…

* * *

His sex god factor had been thrown right at her like a bucket of cold water when she’d seen him leave him the gym at campus, his usual messy hair damp - if not to mention the white shirt sticking to his abs. Damn, he was the WORST. Because as soon as she had noticed it, there was no going back; he took over her mind with ease, causing her dreams to turn wet, his deep voice haunting her.

Then there was of course the nickname, which she had started imagining as a moan before she’d been able to prevent it:  _Princess…_ She despised it: every letter, every syllable it was made out of, and then it just had to give her fantasies (because everything about him gave her fantasies). It was awful! She hated him…

Wait, in fact she couldn’t do that either - honestly, it was hard for her to comprehend that he actually showed signs of the second type, too, and not just a couple of them: he had a little sister, Octavia, who would sometimes come to visit. Around her, he was a completely different person that smiled in more ways than one, laughed out loud and couldn’t even throw a sarcastic comment when she came in to borrow a ladle. Later, she discovered his blog by accident (she sure hadn’t googled his name or anything creepy like that): On it were many very positive posts about feminism, ramblings about Game of Thrones, cooking recipes and pictures of cute animals.

That was when it all had gotten too much…

* * *

Her cheeks were burning red: if it was fueled more by embarrassment than anger or the other way around was what she was certain of, “let me  _go_ ,” the last word was close to a whimper, and Clarke wanted to disappear, crawl into a hole or maybe even cover her face with a paper bag.

“Clarke…”  _Hold up, since when had he known her real name?_ Anyway, it didn’t matter; didn’t lessen the risks of this turning into the worst day of her life, so instead of wondering more about it, she pulled her wrist from his grip, clenching her teeth, “I’m sorry,” he continued, his eyes moving to hers. To her surprise, it actually sounded sincere… But she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it, rolling her eyes with a huff: “yeah right,”

At that, he furrowed his eyebrows, and she raised one of hers in response. He stayed quiet for a rather long moment until trying again, using another excuse: “Look, I crossed the line with that comment-“ making an impulsive decision, Clarke placed a hand on his arm, pulling him along into the empty classroom directly next to them. While she closed and locked the door, she felt him staring at her back, but really after what he apparently had witnessed she wasn’t sure that it was right to blame him for doing so. She chose not to let it stop her (what did she have to lose after all?): “You think? That you  _crossed the line?_ ” Hissing that out through her teeth, she watched his jaw slack more than a little bit; how it stayed like that for a few seconds before he realized it, closing his mouth slowly, however maybe it was done too soon, because Clarke continued: “You heard me  _pleasuring myself_ , Bellamy. And you say–” To her horror, a few tears started to burn within her eyes as her voice strained a bit at the end too. Blinking them away, she found the courage to carry on: “– It just causes me to think that you intend to use it against me-”

“But I would never do that,” he insisted quickly, his dark eyes serious as hers finally met them, “I know I screwed up - therefore, I’m not even going to try and excuse that what I said. I honestly don’t know why,” sometimes, you think you’ve seen all the strangest things in the world, and so did Clarke until she saw Bellamy Blake gaze down at his feet like a little boy, who had been caught trying to steal candy. He was really ashamed of himself, and as that realization struck her, she felt a lot worse.

“I’m biased,” she admitted bluntly, making him look up at her, “I thought that that was what you always say, you know? A classic mocking comment for the girls that-”

“Always?”

At first she believed him to be joking, however upon about a minute where his confused facial expression had done nothing but intensify, Clarke responded in awe: “Come on, you’re not telling me that this hasn’t happened to you before; a girl wanting you,”

He shrugged, a lopsided smile growing upon his lips that made him look a lot younger, “do you still want me? Even though I’m an ass?”

Biting her lower lip at the expectant edge somewhere within his tone, she was about to remind him that he hadn’t answered her question, yet decided to just let it go… For now…

“Yes,”

“That’s good,” it took him less than a minute to make his way to her, gently cup her face and catch her mouth with his own. Instinctively, she grabbed at his shirt with one hand while the other messed with his hair… When they at last broke apart to breathe, he peppered chaste kisses all over her face.

And Clarke realized that she had to add another type to her list:

4)  **The perfect jackass;**  Bellamy Blake. When combined, the three types surprisingly can make quite the dream guy.


End file.
